


Smoke

by eLJay



Category: My Mad Fat Diary
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-10
Updated: 2013-04-10
Packaged: 2017-12-08 02:44:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/756063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eLJay/pseuds/eLJay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finn was addicted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Smoke

**Author's Note:**

> Prompted by lookingforsure on Tumblr.
> 
> Smoking is bad for you, in case you hadn't heard.

He could hardly remember when he’d started smoking.  He’d been barely a teenager and rebellious, knowing his parents would disapprove and accepting the first drag in part because of that, not in spite of it; parental disapproval was nothing compared with judgmental mates.  His eyes had watered and he’d struggled not to cough as the smoke burned through his lungs, but the feeling—of fitting in, of illicit acts, of being grown up—was worth the sting.  Before long sneaking away to smoke was a habit, and then it was a need.  If it was necessary he could live without it, could give it up, but he didn’t want to.  He wasn’t an idiot; he knew about the consequences, the dangers.  The risks were in the future, though, while the rewards were immediate.  He pictured the smoke travelling down his veins, through his blood, wrapping round nerves, calming the buzzing need.  It wasn’t much different to blowing smoke in a beehive, really.

He’d wanted the first cigarette, but he hadn’t asked to meet her.   There was no pleasure at first; he choked on her presence, like instead of air he was trying to breathe in something thick, and he hated that no one else seemed to struggle against her the way he did.  But with every moment spent with her it got easier.  Little by little the choking subsided until he didn’t feel like he was gasping for air, until he could breathe properly around her.  From there it happened so quickly that he didn’t notice what was going on, even as he asked himself why he’d gone to her house, why he’d punched a bloke in the street.

All he knew was that he needed to see her, a need so deep it was beyond questioning.  Every time she made a joke or smiled it felt like a jolt of electricity running through him, making him feel alive and powerful.  Going without her for too long was not an option.  Being away from her made him itch inside, worse than that unreachable spot between his shoulder blades, somewhere under his skin, within his bones, where no amount of scratching would assuage it.  He needed to see her; just seeing her would be enough.  And it was.  The insistent feeling faded, replaced with a treacly warmth, sweet and slow, flowing down his spine and through his arms when she said his name.

Nothing, no one else made him feel the way she did.  When she was around everything seemed clearer and brighter, like he’d taken off a pair of dark glasses, like he was seeing things for the first time.  Things that he’d seen and heard all his life suddenly seemed more real, or more meaningful; every beat of his heart was stronger, every fingertip more sensitive.  And when she wasn’t around the world dimmed and blurred, greyed into shadows.  His muscles tightened, tensed, burned; he felt a hollow ache in his chest.  The world snapped into focus and every hurt eased when he saw her again, when she spoke to him, when he ran his finger over her hand and felt her shiver.

He could give up cigarettes any time, but he couldn’t give up the way she made him feel, better than any drug.


End file.
